True North
by Pyromaniac paper doll
Summary: Slade Wilson has been defeated, but Oliver's family, home, city, business, and team have all suffered heavy damages. This is a story of rebuilding in the aftermath.
1. Prologue

Summary: Slade Wilson has been defeated, but Oliver's family, home, city, business, and team have all suffered heavy damages. A story of rebuilding in the aftermath.

I do not own any aspect of Arrow; I'm just respectfully borrowing the characters for fun (but no profit).

Caveat lector: I have no beta, this thing is going to end up long as hell, and pretty much every subsequent chapter is going to be completely A/U in two short days. Proceed at your own risk. That said, if you do read it thank you very much and know that all constructive criticism is welcome and greatly, greatly appreciated.

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**True North**

_If Oliver was the Arrow, then Diggle was his compass, and Felicity…Felicity was True North._

_Prologue_

It wasn't until they had flown back to Hong Kong, boarded the ARGUS transport jet home, and were several hours over a night-dark ocean that Oliver actually began to think about the events of the past few days. It was only then that the truly heroic amounts of adrenaline still coursing through his veins ebbed enough to allow him to shift from fight-or-flight and focus on anything beyond the immediate moment since they'd left Verdant to face Slade's army. Once Slade's soldiers had begun their unrelenting assault on Starling City, there had been no opportunity to stop or rest, just a constant scramble to stay ahead of the wave after wave of masked men. They'd had no capacity to plan for a future beyond sunrise, when Amanda Wallar promised to turn Starling City into a smoldering crater. Most of time, he hadn't been able to think as far as sunrise, just surviving the current fight, the current moment.

Now in the quiet and relative safety of the ARGUS plan, when Oliver tried to organize those hours, into a linear narrative, he found he couldn't. Moments stood out, frozen in time like over-exposed photographs: waking up to Laurel in the lair; his heart stopping at the sight of Digg and Felicity, still and unresponsive in the crashed van; the feel of Felicity hugging him, frightened, hurt, and trembling after _commanding_ him to keep fighting; Sebastian Blood's chilling, delusional vow to be the mayor Starling deserved; Roy standing and confused, but wholly himself again in the clock tower; Nyssa breaking Isabel's neck in front of the boardroom conference table; Felicity telling him to let Slade out-think him; low light glinting off Slade's katana and her tears; the soft, horrible hiss of static over the com as he waited for Amanda to waive off her drone; staring at a sedated, restrained Slade in an ARGUS cargo jet, looking for the barest twitch, a syringe of Tibetan pit viper venom clutched in his hand. The rest of his memories were fragmented; a flickering, disjointed, strobe-lit jumble movement and battle, sound and heat, advance and retreat.

It didn't surprise Oliver that he couldn't seem to put the past few days into sequential order. It was disconcerting, certainly, but he'd experienced it before. His understanding of what had happened his first few weeks on the island was mostly cobbled together later, the gaps between the brief moments of horrific clarity sewn up with inference, embroidered with supporting details provided in by Yao Fe, Fyers, and Slade. At least this time, he had people he trusts to fill in the gaps.

And there's something else, he realizes. While he can't make the past 72 hours into a coherent narrative, unlike his early days on the island, this time there is a single, slender thread winding through the chaos and unifying the discordant mess of sense impressions and images: Felicity's voice. In every impression, she was with him, either standing beside him or on a com in his ear – guiding him though battle, reminding him of his purpose and his path when he wavered, encouraging him to keep his vow, assuring him there was another way and he would find it when everyone else said killing Slade was the only solution, steadying him as surely as if she had reached out a hand when he faltered.

He turned to where he knew she was sitting, a few rows behind him, across the aisle from John. She was slumped against the window, eyes closed, but he could tell from tension in her jaw and her erratic respiration that she wasn't asleep. She must be utterly exhausted, but, like the rest of them was probably too keyed up on adrenaline to actually shut her mind off and sleep. A twitch of a smile curved his lips; Oliver privately suspected the inside of Felicity's head was far brighter, shinier, and faster than the real world and consequently harder to shut off. Still, experience told him she'll probably crash in another hour or two, her body simply giving out.

The smile faded as he caught himself openly staring. He glanced furtively around, to see if he'd been detected. Digg's face was turned away as he dozed, head resting on top of Lyla's. A smattering of ARGUS agents were seated ahead of them, closer to the cockpit, barely visible with the rows of chairs between them, and all seemingly occupied with other things. Assured he was unobserved, Oliver turned back to his partner, deliberately this time, and savored this rare, quiet moment where he could simply watch her and let her presence prove, once again, that she had escaped Slade safe and sound and whole.

Peace, however, was always short-lived for Oliver Queen. The plane, the first safe-haven they'd known in days, was carrying them back to face the aftermath of what Slade's revenge had wrought and the hard, dirty work of repairing and rebuilding. Oliver knew better than most that some things could never be undone; that some wounds were fatal and some choices irrevocable, a thought that settled especially heavily on him when paired with Felicity.

Things between them had slowly been shifting over the past year. He had felt it even as he staunchly resisted examining it. If he didn't acknowledge the change, there felt like there was still the chance to go back. Though he had started this quest on alone, he wasn't sure he knew how to be the Arrow without Diggle and Felicity anymore, and he was leery of anything that could disturb their dynamic. His declaration in the mansion, even made solely for Slade's benefit, not only disturbed the dynamic, it closed off any hope of return. It was too early yet to say how much he had altered things or what the results would be, but he was sure they could never return to the relationship they'd had in the early days. It made him profoundly uneasy.

As though she could sense his change in mood, Felicity shifted in her seat, grimacing as she disturbed an injury. Oliver found himself rising automatically before he even recognized what he was doing. He wanted to go over and sit in the seat next to her, to get a better look at that ugly gash on her temple, maybe even lend his shoulder so she could rest…. But he stayed firmly put. He didn't trust himself to be that close to her and he couldn't risk shaking their bond even further when things felt so fragile between them. Instead, he allowed a few more minutes to fortify himself. And then he turned away and closed his eyes to try to, if not sleep, at least rest. He didn't look in her direction again until they landed in Sterling City.


	2. Chapter 1

On to Chapter one, which now bears very little resemblance to the actual events of Season 3 (curse my inability to get this finished before the premier). I still don't own anything even remotely associated with Arrow and am only taking the characters out for fun, not profit.

To anyone still reading, thanks and enjoy. Constructive reviews are always cherished.

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_Chapter 1_

The sun was shining brightly on Starling City when they stepped, blinking, off the plane. It was still too early in the spring to be warm, but after leaving the city in darkness and flames, just coming back to daylight was welcome.

As soon as her feet touched the tarmac, Felicity powered up her phone in one hand and her tablet in the other. "Ah, precious, precious 4G," she sighed.

"Suffering a little withdrawal Felicity?" Diggle teased. It seemed like it had been a long time since he'd done that, and, like the sunshine it felt hopeful, if a little unfamiliar.

"Don't make fun Mister," she admonished, holding her phone above her head, searching for optimal signal, "It's not like I can expense my insane international data fees to the CEO anymore. And, as a wise man once said, Minefield Island isn't exactly a WiFi hot spot." He still chuckled when her phone pinged with its first data packet and she let out an involuntary sigh of satisfaction.

"So what now Oliver?" Digg turned towards the other man, giving Felicity a minute alone with her tech. "I know everyone's pretty banged up but we should –"

Her gasp cut him off before he could finish his though and sent him wheeling back toward Felicity, hand already reaching for his weapon. "We need to go to the hospital," Felicity was charging back to them, her phone thrust out before her.

Oliver plucked the device from her hand to read the text message on the screen, "It's Detective Lance," she explained to Digg, "he's in intensive care."

The drive to the hospital, in a commandeered ARGUS car, was conducted in tense silence. Digg navigated them gingerly around broken pavement and stunned pedestrians, the streets still littered with debris and the burnt out shells of other vehicles while Felicity tried to get into Lance's medical records and Oliver tried to contact first Laurel, then Sara. But the hospital's electronic medical records system had apparently been knocked offline in the attack or overwhelmed by the flood of casualties and neither Laurel nor Sara were answering their phones, leaving with no information on Lance's condition beyond an hours-old text message begging Oliver to come as quickly as he could.

The hospital hummed with activity when they finally arrived. The initial deluge of patients and chaos of triage was obviously over, but the building was still filled past capacity with people injured in the attacks. Oliver, Diggle and Felicity walk past the empty visitor's desk without pausing - the staff was too busy tending the wounded to bother enforcing visiting hours - and made their way directly to the ICU without a second look from the harried nurses. Luck was with them on the ward as it hadn't been on the road. They spotted Laurel standing outside one of the rooms, hunched over her cell phone almost immediately after coming onto the floor.

"Ollie!" she cried as she saw him, pulling him into a tight hug as soon as they drew near, exhaustion and worry clear on her face. "I've been trying to reach you for almost a day! I'm so glad you're okay. Where were you?"

Oliver glanced over Laurel's shoulder, assuring himself that no one was in earshot before murmuring, "Transporting Slade to somewhere he won't be a danger to anyone."

Laurel's lips thinned, but she didn't press for any further information.

Stepping back a little but not releasing her, he asked, "How's your dad?"

"Better," her voice wavered for just moment, but she quickly marshaled her emotions, "Better," she repeated, her voice steady this time. "He was in surgery for four hours and he lost a lot of blood. Thankfully he woke up this morning. He's not happy, but he seems like himself at least. His doctor thinks he'll make a full recovery."

It was like all three of them let out a breath at the same moment.

"I'm glad to hear it," Oliver said with genuine relief, giving her arm a quick squeeze as he did.

"Do you think he'd be up for a quick visit?" Felicity piped up from behind him.

Laurel looked up sharply, as if she had just noticed Felicity and Diggle for the first time and didn't welcome the intrusion.

"Or we could come back later," she backpedaled at Laurel's narrowed expression, "when he's feeling better. Or I could just send a Get Well Soon card to the precinct…."

"I promise we'll be quick," Oliver cajoled, stroking her arms lightly, "We owe your dad a lot. The least we can do is check in."

"Of course," Laurel relaxed, giving Oliver a wan smile. "Sorry, it's be a long couple of days…." She took Oliver's hand leading him into the room, "I'm sure he'll be happy to see you." Felicity trailed behind them while Digg posted up outside the door, scanning the hallway for threats.

Quinten Lance was dozing, propped up in bed, what looked like dozens of tubes and wires snaking around him. "Dad, look who's here!" Laurel announced with the over-bright, strained cheer of someone who still wasn't totally convinced her father was going to be okay.

"Queen," he said roughly, opening his eyes, "I though you and your sister got out of town before those psychos attacked?" his gaze tracked over the bruises on Oliver's face, "What the hell happened to you?" the faint, familiar disapproval helped animate his expression and made him look less still and sick.

"I didn't quite make it out," Oliver lied effortlessly, "some goon in a mask attacked me as I was trying to leave the city. He must have been on steroids – he threw me around like I weighed nothing. The next thing I remember was coming to." Many _portions_ of what he said were true, and Laurel, Felicity, and Oliver all offered up a quick prayer that Quinten wouldn't probe any deeper.

Mercifully, Lance appeared satisfied with Oliver's explanation. He nodded once before shooting the younger man a sardonic grin, "I know the feeling. It was one of those guys who put me in here."

"How are you feeling Detective?" Felicity peaked out from Oliver.

"Miss Smoak," the detective looked far more pleased to see her than Oliver, "I've been better, I'm surprised to see you here."

"Texts to Oliver's work phone are automatically forwarded to me," she provided by way of explanation, "I got Laurel's text about you being in the hospital too," Felicity stepped close to the bed, taking hold of the rail with both hands. "We came as soon as we could. I'm glad to see you're awake."

"You and me both," he shifted and let out a groan as his stitches pulled.

Laurel was at his side immediately, "Dad, do you need me to call the doctors?"

"Honey, I'm fine, just sore," Lance grumbled, shifting gingerly to find a comfortable position, before reaching out to squeeze her hand, "Don't hover."

Laurel's expression didn't change, "at least take your pain meds dad," she admonished, "the doctors said you need to stay ahead of the pain."

"And Oxycodone makes everything feels so friendly," Felicity added meditatively "…Would be an incredibly insensitive thing to say in a room full of people who have had addiction issues…" she continued with a look of dawning horror.

"We should let you get some rest," Oliver cut her off, before she could go farther, suppressing a smile at the familiar look of panicked gratitude, "We just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"It'll take more than some nutball in a goalie mask to get me off the force," the detective deadpanned. After a beat he added, "Hey, thanks for stopping by Oliver."

Oliver nodded. He gave Laurel's arm one final squeeze, "Let me know if you need anything," he murmured, before turning back for the door.

Felicity flashed Lance one final, quick smile and turned to follow Oliver.

"Miss Smoak," Felicity paused, turning back to him, "would you mind staying for a moment?"

Oliver didn't have to fake the look of surprise that crossed his face.

"Of course detective," she glanced over her shoulder at Oliver, "I'll catch up with you in a minute." Oliver hesitated a second more but kept his questions to himself as he walked out the door.

"I thought he wasn't the CEO anymore," Lance said, nodding to where Oliver had just exited.

"He's paid up through the end of the month," Felicity quipped, "Like I said, his messages are still being forwarded to me - the last week was not the time to compare wireless plans. I think he might have lost or broken his phone in all the…yahhhha" she curled her finger into claws, "last night. He called me when he came too to try and figure out what he'd missed and I let him know you were here."

He waved her and Laurel closer to the bed, leaving her account of how she had rejoined Oliver unquestioned. "How's our mutual friend," he asked lowly.

"Alive," Felicity confirmed, curling her fingers around the bed rail again, "Banged up, but he should be back to work soon. He says 'Thank You' for everything you did, by the way. And for trusting us."

"He's the one we should be thanking. There's no telling what those men would have done if he hadn't stopped them. What about Wilson?" "

"Somewhere he can't hurt anyone being watched by people who can handle him."

Lance sagged back against the pillow, "I'm not going to lie, that's a relief."

"How are you?" he asked with more than a touch of fatherly concern.

That surprised her. "Me?" she squeaked, "F-fine." She touched her head gingerly, "This, some bruises, and I am going to be sore tomorrow, but otherwise I'm fine."

"Laurel told me about what happened between you and Wilson…" Felicity's mouth went dry. Surely Laurel had left out the whole kill the woman Oliver loved bit. "Did _he_ send you in there? Was that part of some kind of plan?" From the lack of yelling, she decided Laurel had, in fact, kept that fact to herself.

Felicity swallowed, "He couldn't get close enough to Slade to give him the cure, so…"

Lance let out a low whistle, "I can't figure out if what you did was the bravest or stupidest thing I've ever heard of."

"Possibly both?" she suggested helpfully, but sobered at his granite expression. "We'd tried everything else. It was the only way to get close enough to him and," she glanced at Laurel, "save your daughter."

Lance studied her for another moment, and Felicity had a fleetingly wondered how any suspect resisted blurting out all of her crimes under his scrutiny. "Well, then thank you," he said finally, releasing her, "and if you see our friend, tell him I say thanks. And he deserves a punch in the face."

"Will do!" She reached out impulsively and squeezed his hand. "Get well soon, detective." With a final little wave, she walked out the door. And almost directly into Digg's chest.

Felicity knew immediately from his stormy expression that something was wrong. Her heart flew into her throat. After everything they had been though in the last few days….how many shoes were going to drop? "Digg, did something – "

John Diggle's voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the undercurrent of furry, "What did Lance mean when he said, Laurel told him about _you _and _Wilson_?"

"Uh oh….."

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Author's Note: This show. This f%^king show.


	3. Chapter 2

Thank you to everyone who left a review or decided to follow this story – I'm humbled and grateful. Please feel free to continue telling me what you like or what you think I'm screwing up. This chapter is a long one - I hope you enjoy it.

I still don't own Arrow.

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_Chapter 2_

Digg had elected not to join Oliver and Felicity in checking on Detective Lance. Instead, he remained, standing at ease outside the door, like Oliver Queen's body guard should, which is where Oliver found him when he emerged from Lance's room, alone. His questioning glance was met with a mild shrug from before Oliver moved up the hall a little way to check his recently retrieved phone and probably text Thea. Figuring Oliver would probably appreciate a little space, Digg elected to remain outside of the detective's door and wait on Felicity.

The quiet hallway and echoing acoustics of the bare tile floors and walls meant he could hear Felicity and Lance's conversation with little difficulty. Years as a bodyguard had taught Diggle the fine art of letting other people's conversations wash over him, the words flowing away unheard unless and until something _important_ was said. And he did exactly that, until he hear the words, "Laurel told me what happened between _you and Wilson._" That phrase was the very definition of important.

He listened intently to the rest of their short conversation with growing alarm. He and Felicity and Oliver hadn't been in contact from the time he and Lyla split off to stop Waller until they'd all reunited at the airport. Once the extraction team brought Oliver, Felicity, and an unconscious Slade to the runway, they taken off for Lian Yu within the half-hour. Between cleaning up, tending wounds, and Oliver's obsessive need to stand sentry over Wilson with exotic snake venom, there hadn't been time to debrief. And since Wilson was captured, Oliver was beaten up but alive, and Felicity looked shaken but no worse than she had been when he'd left them, Digg assumed that comparing war stories could wait until after they'd come home and had a moment to catch their breath. Apparently he had been wrong. Because it sure as hell sounded like Felicity had ended up with Slade and Oliver had put her there. Surely, he must have misunderstood that.

The way Felicity blanched when he confronted her did nothing to assuage his concern. He took her elbow and marched her toward Oliver without a word. This was neither the time nor the place, and Diggle didn't trust himself to speak without yelling. If his suspicions were confirmed, he also didn't trust himself not to deliver that punch in the face Detective Lance seemed to think Oliver deserved either.

Oliver went still when he caught sight of them, immediately aware of the tension in Diggle's posture. "We are going to debrief," Digg ground out, never breaking stride. Oliver's eyes flicked to Felicity and Diggle caught a flash of frantic hand gestures in his peripheral vision before the other man fell obediently into step behind them. Diggle tucked Felicity closer to his side and ushered her out the door.

The ride to the secondary base was, again, conducted in silence. Diggle's anger hadn't diminished by the time they arrived, but at least he felt like he had regained some control over that anger. Felicity immediately settled into an old office chair, Oliver taking up position behind and to her left, leaning against a table. Digg stood in the middle of floor, equidistant from his partners and waited. Neither of them said a word.

His anger snapped at its bonds, when he looked at Felicity, sorely testing that control, so he focused on Oliver. "Oliver," he started, his voice deceptively even, "Do you remember the first time she came to the Foundry, when you asked her to join us?" The other man looked up at the ceiling then nodded, his lips in a tight line. "Do you remember what you said?"

"That we could protect her," Oliver answered quietly, his expression carefully composed.

Digg nodded tightly. "So do you want to explain to me," he demanded, voice rising as his control slipped again, "how she ended up with Laurel and Slade Wilson? And how, under any definition of the word, that qualifies as _protecting_ her?"

"Diggle, it was the only way…."

Diggle cut him off, "I don't believe that for a second."

Oliver's fingers flexed, evidence of his own flaring temper, "Do you want to know what happened or not?"

Digg crossed his arms over his chest, and waited. He supposed he should know exactly what he would be punching Oliver Queen over.

Oliver took a breath, "After you left, we went to Queen Consolidated. Slade, Isabel, and some of his men were there, just like Nyssa said. We were able to neutralize his men and get close enough that I had a clear shot at Slade. I had _three_ clear shots at Slade and he batted my arrows away like they were flies before going out of a 32nd floor window. " Even now, Oliver's frustration was palpable. "After the fight, Felicity-"

"Who had been waiting safely in the car up until that point," she piped up, earning a quelling look from both men.

Oliver cleared his throat, "_Felicity_ brought Detective Lance up to see the Arrow. Slade had taken Laurel."

Even in the depths of his very righteous anger, that made Diggle suck in a breath.

"He wanted to kill the woman I loved," Oliver confirmed, taking a steadying breath of his own, shoulders sagging as though the weight of world had come down upon them. "We had no idea where he was, how to find him, what his next move was, or how to stop him. You know better than anyone that he had out-thought us at every turn." Oliver fell silent for a long moment, "It was actually Felicity's suggestion – that we make him out-think us. I realized Slade would never let me get close enough to him, but that he was so focused on me, on destroying everything that was precious to me, that if he thought that there was something he'd missed, he'd go after it without any questions."

Diggle did not like where this was going, but allowed Oliver to continue.

"The day my mother was killed, I found cameras in the mansion. I realized Slade was watching. So I took Felicity there and we convinced Slade he had taken the wrong woman. That Laurel wasn't the woman I loved, Felicity was. I gave her the cure and left her there while I went to fight his soldiers in the tunnel. He took Felicity, just like I thought he would, and he contacted me with his location so I could watch him take his revenge."

Digg felt sick. He had been furious with Oliver because he assumed that he had failed to keep her safe, that she had fallen into Slade's hands because of some scheme gone wrong. He never thought that Oliver would have hand-delivered her to Slade Wilson.

"He never saw her coming," there was a note of pride in Oliver's voice. "He was so fixated on me that he didn't even search her; he wasn't wearing all of his protective armor. Felicity jabbed a syringe of cure into his neck and, once that was done, Sara got her and Laurel out of there and I was finally able to beat him." Oliver's posture relaxed. "Soon after that, the extraction team picked us up, and we met you at the airport."

Digg said nothing. An ominous silence filled the room, squeezing out the air while Digg took in what Oliver had said.

Slowly, he turned to Felicity, but she wasn't meeting his eye. "Is that true?" he asked quietly.

"Ah," she hesitated, "Y-yes. That's pretty much it," she looked up at him for a moment, before her gaze skittered away again.

That heavy silence grew, weighing even more oppressively upon them all. Digg knew that she wasn't telling him something…She was protecting Oliver, like she always did. Like they both always did. But for what? What could be worse than what he had already confessed to? He tried to catch her eye, to divine it from her face but she wasn't looking at him. And she wasn't looking at Oliver…. And Digg suddenly suspected how it could be worse.

"Did he tell you what he planned to do?" the words were soft, but she could hear the undercurrent of rage in Digg's voice.

"Well….ahhh…." Felicity had known Oliver was up to _something_. As soon as she'd said that he needed to make Slade out-think him, she'd seen the epiphany flash across his face before he grabbed her hand, turned on his heel and strode for the elevators with a purpose she hadn't seen in weeks. He'd rushed her out of the lobby, past milling assassins and a confused-looking Detective Lance and onto the back of his bike. She'd been dying to ask him what he'd figured out, but there had been no way to talk above the rush of wind as he threaded them precariously though streets clogged with ruined cars and panicked citizens. So she knew he had _a_ plan, she just didn't know what it was precisely. At the time, it hadn't even bothered her, all she wanted to know was how she could help.

"There wasn't time to fill me in on all of the details," Felicity started, "but…"

"DON'T!" she jumped, Digg's voice ringing off the stained cement walls, "Don't you defend him Felicity." He rounded on Oliver, "You served her up as bait to a madman and you didn't even prepare her?"

Oliver looked like a broken man, "We had to sell it," he said quietly, eyes fixed on some distant spot on the ceiling.

"_How_ did you sell it?" Digg gritted out, stalking another step closer to Oliver.

"I told her she had to stay at the house until it was over, that I needed her safe and that I'd come for her when it was all over. I said that when Slade took Laurel, he took the wrong woman. I said –" Diggle's fist collided with Oliver's jaw with brutal force, knocking the rest of the words away and sending him sprawling to the ground. Felicity jumped up, but Digg was already stomping up the stairs and out the door, the clang of metal echoing around them as he slammed the heavy door shut behind him.

She took a step toward Oliver, but he waved her away, staggering to his feet, holding his jaw. He wouldn't look at her as he limped away to the dark corner where he presumably kept his medical supplies in this place. Felicity sighed, finding herself alone in the dank, barren space that would likely become their new home base.

Back in her carefree youth, she occasionally fantasized about what it would be like to have two handsome, muscle-bound men fighting over her. It did not look like this. "Thanks for ruining the dream guys…" she muttered to no one. She wished they were back in the Foundry – at least there she would have her computers to occupy her until Digg calmed down and Oliver finished his standard course of self-flagellation. But as that option was unavailable…. She glanced again at the dark corner Oliver had retreated to, silently debating before she turned, footsteps ringing on the old metal stairs – those were definitely being upgraded as soon as possible. And they were all getting tetanus shots.

Luckily, Digg hadn't gone far. Felicity found him leaning on the metal railing just outside the entrance, looking out over the broken pavement. "You know," she said, taking up her own position at the railing next to him, her posture mirroring his, "Oliver's face is one of the perks of this job and since it looks like I'm about to take a big pay cut, those intangible benefits are going to be a lot more important."

Digg turned to look at her, but he didn't smile. He did let out a breath, some of the tension slipping out on that noisy exhalation and wrapped a protective, fraternal arm around her shoulders. Felicity settled contentedly against his warm side and they watched the empty lot, this silence comfortable and companionable.

"It was a good plan," she finally broke the silence, "and it really was our only chance."

She could feel the expand and contract of his ribs as he sighed. "There must have been some other way besides putting a big, red, "woman Oliver loves" target on your back and dangling you in front of Slade Wilson…" This time, there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice where there hadn't been before.

Felicity shook her head, "There really wasn't. Well," she amended, "If we assume a multi-verse, it is theoretically possible that in some alternate reality, there may have been some other way to neutralize Slade without hurting anyone else or bombing Starling City into a smoldering crater, but I still don't know what it could be. Can you think of any other way?"

"No," he finally admitted, "it doesn't mean I have to like the idea of you in that much danger," she felt the arm around her shoulder tighten, "And it doesn't make it okay for Oliver to send you in there blind."

Digg's concern warmed her as much as his arm. "I knew he had a plan, you know. As soon as I said we had to make Slade out-think him, I saw it in his face. The only way it could have been more obvious is if an actual cartoon light bulb had illuminated above his head. He didn't keep the details from me for any malicious purpose, there just wasn't time. The city was burning, Laurel had been taken...we were on our way to the mansion on a motorcycle approximately 30 seconds after the bulb went off…. It's not like Slade and his minions would have given us a quick time-out to finalize the plan and synchronize our Swatches."

"It was still risky," Digg said, "you might have blown the whole thing inadvertently."

A wry smile touched Felicity's lips. "I think I almost did," she admitted. "I had no idea what we could possibly be doing at his house and I kept demanding he tell me what was going on. And then when he told me I was supposed to stay there and that he'd be back for me when it was all over because he needed me safe. I thought he'd lost his damn mind."

She was pressed too close to him to see his smile, but she heard when he replied, "I don't imagine that went over well."

She shook her head against his shoulder. There had been an initial flash of panic when Oliver had told her to stay. Why wasn't he telling her the plan? Why didn't he want her in on it? After all of they'd been though, didn't he trust her? But it had quickly solidified into a steely resolve. This was their fight and she'd be _damned_ if she was going to be left out of it because Oliver was having an attack of…something…at the worst possible moment. "If he hasn't said he loved me, I probably would have walked out and gotten on that death-mobile - motorcycles are scary by the way, I don't know why anyone rides them - and refused to get off until he took me with him." Saying the words out loud was like a sudden blow to the chest – it surprised Felicity how much it hurt.

Digg froze. "He told you he loved you?" his quiet voice was simultaneously comforting and humiliating.

"At first he just said that Slade had taken the wrong woman, but I wasn't sure what he was saying exactly. I mean I got the 'Laurel-isn't-the-one-I-love' message, but I didn't know if he meant that he was in love with Sara now, or someone else, or if he was just enjoying being single and sleeping with women of questionable moral and mental status. I didn't think he was talking about me – I mean, Oliver and me, it's -," Felicity was surprised to hear her voice quaver as her throat tightened up, "anyway, subtle wasn't working on me, so he spelled it out for the cameras. Normally Oliver can't lie to save his life," she tried to sound light, but the tightness in her throat was squeezing off her air, and a quick, hot, humiliating tear slid down her cheek, "but he really sold it. For a split second, I even believed him. It wasn't until he palmed the syringe to me that I figured it all out. I mean, for a certified genius, I was really slow on the uptake…" Her voice broke and Digg shifted, pulling her into his chest. Some portion of Felicity's brain had the good sense to be mortified by this, crying over Oliver because he didn't like-like her to _Diggle_ of all people. This wasn't going to make their partnership awkward _at all_. But she had been through so much in the past 3 days and it just felt so good to feel safe again and let it all out. So she buried her face against his hard muscles that felt like they could beat anything and cried.

Digg didn't try to offer any words of comfort as Felicity fell apart, he just rested his chin in her hair, held her, and tried to process what she had just said. Oliver had told her he loved her. She thought it was an act for Slade's benefit. Oliver had clearly not disabused her of that notion. He didn't even know where to begin with that. So instead he reflected on what she had done, on how amazingly brave she had been, and how grateful and lucky he was that she was safe and here for him to comfort after the tremendous risk she had undertaken for all of them. If anyone deserved a breakdown, it was Felicity.

Soon enough, the tears stopped flowing and Felicity's breath began to return to a normal rhythm. Sheepishly she pushed back, ducking her head. John didn't try to stop her, but did replace his arm around her shoulder and was pleased when Felicity, though not meeting his eye, settled comfortably back against his side. "Is there any way we can pretend that didn't just happen?" she sniffed, pushing up her glasses to wipe her eyes, "and that I didn't just cry all over you because of a mortifying, unrequited crush on Oliver Queen that should NEVER, EVER be acknowledge."

Digg couldn't help but grin, even as his heart broke for her just a little. He wanted to tell her that her feelings for Oliver weren't at all mortifying, or, he suspected, as unrequited as she believed. But now wasn't the time or place for that conversation. So instead he said, "Forget what? We've been standing here chatting about getting Slade the entire time we've been up here."

"You are a true gentleman John Diggle, and a good friend." the light that he associated with Felicity was returning to her voice. "I'm fine Digg," she assured him, "I'm fine and Slade's in an underground bunker back on that horrible island. And if I ever had any desire to go out and prove my badass bonafides, this experience has completely killed it. I am happy to leave the feats of heroism to you and Oliver and sit safely in the Arrow cave with my computers from here on out." She vowed. "So do you think you can forgive Oliver now?"

Digg sighed noisily, "Only because I can't think of any other option. But," he stipulated, "I'm holding you to that staying in the Arrow cave thing, and we're stepping up your self-defense training as soon as we get the base back up and running. And," he added as an afterthought, "I'm never going to like the fact that you were in so much danger."

"Deal," Felicity squirmed sideways, "And if it's any consolation, I didn't like Slade Wilson holding a sword to my throat and ranting at Oliver about all the ways he was going to kill me either."

Digg sucked in a breath.

"He didn't hurt me," Felicity rushed to add, "He threatened me a lot and I've never, ever been so scared in my life…." She paused uncertainly, "But…I knew Oliver was coming for me. I'm not stupid, I knew that I might not…" she swallowed, her voice growing thick again, "but I trusted that Oliver would do _everything_ he could to get me out of there safely. Maybe I'm not the woman he loves, but we're a team and I know that means as much to you guys as it does to me." she finished with quiet conviction.

Diggle was silent so long, Felicity began to worry that what she'd just said was as lame and delusionally love-sick sounding as she feared.

"It does," he said finally, giving her one last squeeze. "It does."

Shortly after, they both descended back into the new base. Oliver stood at the bottom of the stairs, like a convicted man awaiting sentencing. Felicity shot him an encouraging smile then went off to her chair, pulling out her phone as she did, giving them some space.

Diggle sighed, "I really, really don't like it Oliver," he began gravely, "Slade could have just as easily decided to kill her on the spot and left her body for you on the steps of your childhood home rather than take her so he could invite you to her execution."

A look of pain that hadn't been there when John's fist connected with his jaw flashed over Oliver's face, his eyes flicking over to the blonde seated a few feet away from him as though he was reassuring himself she was still there. "Don't you think I know that Diggle," he returned hotly, struggling to keep his voice low, "Slade could have killed her a hundred different ways and I imagined every one when I left her. Had there been any other way…I would have gladly died to keep him from getting within a hundred feet of her…but even if I had handed myself over, Slade wasn't ever going to stop."

"I know," Diggle said finally, letting the younger man off the hook. "I hate that it was the only option, but I can see that it was."

Oliver swallowed, some of the tension going out of his posture. "I promise you Diggle, had she even _hinted_ that she didn't want to do it, I would have gotten her out of there."

A faint smile tugged at John's mouth. "I don't doubt that. And I don't doubt our girl didn't hesitate for a second."

"She is remarkable," Oliver conceded.

"I'm not apologizing for the punch to the face though," Diggle warned, holding out his hand, "You deserved it."

Oliver clasped his proffered palm without hesitation, "Fair enough."

Noting that her partners had, at least for now, appeared to come a resolution, Felicity set down her phone and returned to where the two men were standing in the middle of the sparsely-furnished space. Enough with Slade and the past, it was time to move forward.

"Well, we have a lot to do!" Felicity wasted no time, ticking items off on her fingers, "We have to set up a new Arrow Cave - "

"Don't call it that," Oliver interjected.

"We have to get your company back," she continued on without missing a beat, "We may have to find jobs while we wait to get your company back. You should probably check in on Thea. Oliver needs to find a place to live. The Arrow is probably going to be very in demand because the police force is a little short-handed…." She considered for a moment, "And we need to organize a baby shower for Digg."

The two men exchanged looks, but Felicity was on a roll, "Unless you're ARGUS people are throwing you one, but I can't really picture Amanda Waller showing up with a onesie bouquet. Though if you do have an ARGUS shower, could you _please_ try to get me an invite? I'd really like to be near people who are near X15 solid-state hard drives."

"What is a onesie bouquet?" Digg asked hesitantly, unsure he really wanted the answer.

"_That's_ what you took from this conversation," Oliver raised an incredulous brow.

"Oh, it's this really cute baby shower thing where you roll up a bunch of different-colored onesies or bibs to make them look like flowers and then you put them in a basket with greenery so it looks like a little bouquet," Felicity mimed the entire construction process as she explained. "But, you know, it doesn't die in a week and is useful for new parents."

Digg cast a faintly panicked look at Oliver again, but the other man just shrugged.

"Oh John," Felicity said, laying a comforting hand on his arm, "we need to get you some baby books. And Pinterest!"

* * *

**A/N:** NOOOOOOO! Sara; NOOOOO! Add that to, "I don't want to die down here," and the Arrow writing staff and cast continue to stomp on my heart and drive me to drink. This show. This F&amp;$king show.


	4. Chapter 3

Hello! Sorry about the long delay between updates, but this chapter and the next ended up being absolute beasts for some reason. I hope you enjoy what I finally managed to wrestle onto the page. As always, thanks for reading and please feel free to tell me what you liked or what I'm screwing up in the review.

If only I owned Arrow, but alas...

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_Chapter 3_

Felicity slumped against the door of her apartment, sagging against the cool wood as she examined her space. Coming back home again felt slightly surreal, as though she were returning after been gone for months rather than a mere 72 hours. She caught herself studying her living room as though it might be somehow unfamiliar. It was a ridiculous thought, and she admonished herself for it, but she still looked around for another moment before she pushed wearily off the door and walked cautiously into her home.

Her caution was even more ridiculous considering that both Oliver and Diggle had already searched her apartment top to bottom. Her neighborhood had made it through Slade's attack and the looting that followed relatively unscathed; there had been no sign of anything amiss when they pulled up to her door. Still, neither man would allow her to enter until they had both personally verified her apartment was secure. The only danger they found were the smells emanating from her refrigerator – apparently the power had been out for a good stretch while they had been gone.

Felicity was immensely grateful for that her home had remained inviolate. Had there been even the slightest hint that Slade or his men had been here, she didn't think she would have been able to walk through that front door. While Walter had sounded genuinely happy to open his home to Oliver, but she doubted he'd be willing to take on more guests, not to mention the uncomfortable questions that would surely be raised, or at least pointedly implied in an arch, unspoken British fashion. And though Oliver and Diggle would possibly be the greatest friends in the history of moving – both possessed giant muscles and owed her big – Felicity already felt like she had lost a home when they'd walked into the ransacked base. She wasn't sure she would be able to bear it if she lost her actual home as well.

Felicity shook her head as though she could shake the troubling thoughts away and made her way to the kitchen. She didn't want to think about Slade and all the havoc he had wrought, real or potential any longer. All she wanted to do was eat something, take a long, hot shower, and collapse into her own bed for the first time in three days.

As her fridge had been declared a disaster site, her dinner options were limited to the contents of her meager pantry. Hunting though her cabinets, and vowing to do better on stocking staple non-perishables from now on, she eventually came up with her can of emergency soup – Campbell's Chicken and Stars, to be opened for nothing less than actual flu or near-apocalypse – and a box of crackers that were only slightly stale. It was a rather humble dinner, but it suited both her limited appetite and the amount of effort she was prepared to expend on food preparation. She dumped the can in a clean bowl, shoved it in the microwave, and had a moment of silence in honor of the almost-new pint of ice cream that she'd bought the day before Moira Queen had been killed.

Munching crackers over her sink, she eyed her television speculatively while she waited for her soup to heat. After what had seemed like three days of constant noise, she found her quiet apartment unsettling. Briefly, she considered turning the TV on and searching for something dumb and mindless to alleviate the now-unfamiliar silence and the tension that still settled heavily in her stomach and clenched her muscles into tight knots. As the microwave beeped, she decided against it. After watching the city splinter around her for the second time, she simply wasn't prepared for the possibility of seeing it again on the local news. Felicity sat at her kitchen table, ate her soup, and reminded herself that sounds of battle that seemed to echo just outside of her hearing were only in her head. By the time she finished, she was starting to get used to the quiet again.

She left her dishes at the table, too tired and too sore to even bother bring them to the sink. Her already aching muscles had stiffened further as she sat, and by the time she finished eating, her limbs felt clumsy and leaden and it hurt to breathe. She shuffled to her bathroom by sheer force of will and cranked the water in her shower up as hot as she could stand. Felicity stood under the spray until the sting from the cut on her head no longer surprised her and the water went tepid, the long, hot soak and the ibuprofen she downed with dinner finally granting her some relief. It eased the pain and fatigue just enough for her to change into her warmest, ugliest pjs and brush her teeth, but no more.

When she finally crawled into bed and turned off the lights, the exhaustion weighted so heavily she felt like she sunk an extra inch into the mattress. But, perversely, sleep refused to come. Felicity groaned; she'd done what she could to try and avoid this exact scenario but, really, how did one unwind after trying to avert a mass-killing? Though this was now the second time she'd found herself lying awake in this bed after helping to prevent the _complete_ destruction of Starling City, she was no closer to the answer than when she'd huddled under her covers a year ago, listening to the sounds of distant sirens in the Glades. Though there was a slight difference this time. Last year, when she closed her eyes, she saw the foundry shaking and falling around her. This year, all she saw was Oliver's face searching hers in the gloom of his unlit foyer.

Felicity didn't want to think about what had happened in the entry of his shuttered, empty home. She liked the tidy narrative she'd almost successfully told John – Oliver has a cunning plan but no time to fill her in on the details, a comic misunderstanding ensues but is quickly corrected, bad guy is defeated and all's well that ends well. It was straightforward and neat as a sitcom plot-line – resolved in one episode and with everything back to normal for our intrepid heroes by next week's theme-song. She was most emphatically not interested in subjecting it to any type of scrutiny. Instead, she tried counting sheep. She tried figuring out the code script for a sheep graphic in BASIC, then C++. She made a mental grocery list of items to replace the contents of her fridge. She plotted the logistics of sealing up the whole fridge and getting a new one. But no matter what she tried, her traitorous mind refused to rest, doggedly drifting back to the Queen mansion. Until, finally, around 2:15 in the morning, she was too tired to fight any more and simply let her mind drift back, replaying the memories of that night.

It felt like they had been fighting for days already when they arrived at Queen Consolidated. Even with the cure, even with the League of Assassins, their task was Sisyphean. Unless they cured Slade, for every soldier they'd put down, another would eventually rise up and Slade had thwarted them at nearly every turn. Oliver's conference room epiphany had been the first glimmer of hope that they might actually be a way to end this Starling City mostly intact and their team still alive Felicity had dared to feel since the attacks had begun. That tiny glimmer had grown, fed on Oliver's newly purposeful movements as he steered them confidently though the city, until, by the time she got off that bike in front of his home, she didn't even question what they were doing there. All she cared about was how she could help.

When he'd told her to stay in the mansion because he needed her safe, that hope had rushed out of her in a whoosh, leaving her wrong-footed and off balance for the first time in an evening that had been an unrelenting push of fear, pain, chaos, fighting, and running Isabell Rochev over with a van. Felicity was well accustomed to Oliver's occasional attacks of martyrdom, but she'd know immediately this was something else. She'd been by his side and in the thick of it since this had begun after all, her presence at his left hand assured. He hadn't needed her to be safe when he'd told Laurel to stay at the base. He hadn't asked her to walk away after Slade escaped again, or after they found the STAR lab courier, or in the clock tower when their failure - and worse - had seemed all but certain. So him asking her then, when they had the cure, and a yet-unexplained plan, when the tide might _finally_ be turning, defied all reason.

She'd demanded an explanation immediately, mind firing into overdrive as she tried to compile every possible reason for this sudden insanity and all corresponding counterarguments. Either she was going to disabuse him of whatever misguided sense of duty or guilt was getting in the way of them finishing this within the next two minutes, or she was getting back on that terrifying motorcycle and simply refusing to get off until he took her with him.

She thought she'd covered every possible reason or excuse Oliver could conceivably come up with in that beat of silence between when she demanded he tell her why and when he answered. But if she'd had ten years to think on it, she would have never anticipated that Oliver would look her straight in the eye and tell her Slade had taken the wrong woman. So when he did, her mind had thrown a gear, thoughts suddenly stuttering. He didn't love Laurel? What did that mean? Did he love Sara then? Surely he couldn't…. He must have read the bafflement on her face, because his expression had shifted. He'd looked at her as though he'd taken off his hood and her stomach had dropped. Then Oliver Queen told her that he loved her And her mind had gone completely blank.

Felicity was supremely grateful that she'd frozen in that moment under Oliver's naked, searching gaze. Because, she finally admitted in the darkness bedroom, she hadn't _almost_ believed him, like she told Digg and kept trying to tell herself. In that split second, she had _completely_ believed him. God knows what she would have said had her brain actually been working.

There lay the crux of the issue, she admitted, burying her face further in her pillow. She'd believed him not because Oliver was a particularly good actor, or even because she'd been so shocked, she'd just taken it at face value. She'd believed him because what his words reflected her own feelings and in that moment, with the world burning all around them, it seemed only natural and logical that he'd feel the same way. The truth of the feelings she'd been denying and dismissing for months as a "crush" - a physical attraction based on a heady combination of adrenaline, secrecy and, shirtless workouts - was suddenly and brutally exposed. Only to have their foolish futility revealed seconds later. That was what was behind the persistent ache behind her breastbone and the burn in the back of her throat.

The press of the syringe into her palm a few seconds later had been such a shock, she had flinched. But it had jolted her mind back into gear, the mysterious plan and his odd behavior and what he was _really_ trying to tell her all snapping into focus. Of course Oliver didn't love her, but if they could make Slade believe he did, they would finally be able to get close enough to cure him. He _did_ need her to stay there; the entire city did. So she screwed up her courage, curled her fingers around that syringe so tightly her palm still bore an indentation from the flange, and said yes to everything he was really asking when he whispered, "Do you understand?"

She knew Oliver cared for her, deeply. He'd been showing her for months through a hundred little gestures that he valued her as a partner and a friend. And if she'd had any lingering doubts, he'd proven it unequivocally when he'd palmed her that syringe. The only thing more difficult for Oliver Queen that trusting people, after all, was asking for help. Even now, that brought some small consolation. But she'd also known from the first, or at least from the first time she met Laurel, there could never be…more… She thought she'd accepted that fact and done what she needed to squelch the tender feelings that tended to cropped up with the tenacity of dandelions whenever she spent time with him. Pinning for someone who had made it clear he didn't feel the same way was unfair and more than a little creepy, after all. But that moment had shown her that her best efforts hadn't been enough; she had failed both of them.

Oliver must have known it too, she realized, a sudden rush of mortification scalding her. He'd all but acknowledged her feelings in his post-Russia, "It's not you, it's me," speech. He'd probably even counted on her being half in love with him still, months after his attempt at letting her down easy. If not, wouldn't he have told her what he planned lest she laugh or not believe at his "confession" and blow the whole scene?

Felicity embraced the righteous indignation welling up as she considered his actions again. The ever logical part of her brain, bolstered by the respect and friendship she felt for Oliver, offered the counterpoint that it probably hadn't been a conscious manipulation. He hadn't had a lot of options for plans or time in which to warn her; to say nothing of the fact that, for people who had secret identities, they were _terrible_ liars. But Felicity decided she was under no obligation to be fair or logical or to give Oliver the benefit of the doubt in her own bed at 3 am, especially when the heat of her anger so effectively masked the pain in her chest. He could have warned her somehow, he could have skipped the whole, "I love you," bit. When he left, he could have just gone, instead of hesitating that minute more with eyes full of something that had almost resembled regret; as though it was _his_ heart that was breaking. Instead, he exploited her feelings to lend a little extra veracity to his story, to really sell it to Slade.

Well, Felicity decided, no more. She pulled her face from the pillow and gathered her anger around herself, hardening it into a steely resolve. She was going to move on. For a fleeting second, she considered leaving the team altogether, but dismissed it almost immediately. Despite all of this – her foolishness and his betrayal - she believed in him and his mission and she wanted the opportunity to help keep the city safe. She'd done too much good and seen too much evil to walk away, especially now that Starling needed the Arrow more than ever. But pinning for Oliver, giving him this kind of power over her, was not just a fool's errand, it was dangerous and it had to stop. Tomorrow when they begin rebuilding everything: the base, the team, the city, Queen Consolidated; Felicity decided, she would start rebuilding their relationship as well. This time she'd keep it strictly professional: no more lingering in the lair to keep an eye on him and offer what comfort she could after a tough day; no more cataloging his complements; no more being his girl Wednesday; and definitely no more watching him workout. She'd do the IT, run the missions, and that would be it. And she would stop putting her life on hold, she promised herself; make time to reconnect with her old friends and maybe even reactive her OKCupid profile. She'd help save the city twice in as many years after all – didn't that entitle her to at least an occasional date? Once she stopped blurring the lines of their partnership and expanded her world beyond QC and the Arrow cave, surely her silly feelings would fade away, she told herself firmly. In a few weeks, she'd probably think of Oliver like she did Diggle – as a very muscley friend and partner – and nothing more. A plan and a new resolution provided Felicity with a welcome, though fragile, sense of equanimity. She didn't necessarily feel better, but it was enough to finally allow her to drift off to sleep.

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A/N: Even though I swear on the Salmon Ladder that I go over these chapters multiple times before I post them, stupid, stupid errors still inevitably get though. So I've taken advantage of the fact that this is and spent some time cleaning up the previous chapters - I haven't made any major changes, no need to go back, just fixed some typos and tightened the language in a few places.

Also, if the Arrow writing staff want me to believe Ray Palmer as a viable romantic partner for Felicity, they need to dial down the creepy stalker about 90%. This show. This F$%king show.


	5. Chapter 4

Hello again! Sorry these updates are taking so long, but I assure you, I'm still chugging slowly (oh so slowly) away over here. Thank you so much to everyone who had taken the time to review; each one means so much!

As always, I don't own Arrow. But a girl can dream.

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_Chapter 4_

Her new resolve with regards to Oliver was still in place when Felicity pulled herself from bed, stumbled into her clothes, and down the stairs to meet Diggle much too early the next morning. You'd think a girl would get a week off after saving a city of half-a-million, she mused blearily, pulling her hair in a ponytail in her entryway mirror with one eye peeled for the car that was due any second. But there was too much to be done for them to rest and first on their formidable to-do list was moving the Arrow Cave. They would salvage what they could - Felicity fervently hoped her car would be among the salvageable items - move it to the new base, and destroy what they couldn't. They needed a secure, functioning base again before they could get the Arrow back on the streets, Oliver back into the E suite at Queen Consolidated, find all of them gainful employment, start rebuilding Starling…. The sheer enormity of what lay ahead, on little sleep and no coffee made her a little dizzy. The Bentley pulling up outside her window was a welcome distraction.

Felicity regained some of her equanimity with some bonus lucidity on the ride to Verdant thanks to the absolutely enormous to-go cup of coffee John "officially-her-favorite-person-in-the-world" Diggle had pressed into her hand when she opened her door. The list seemed less daunting with a little caffeine and Diggle's calm, capable strength seated beside her. They'd rebuilt before; they could do it again. And last time they'd done it with just the two of them; this time they had help. They had Roy, they had Oliver…. She swallowed involuntarily, the echoes of her previous dark night of the soul rattling her nerves as her thoughts fixed on him for the first time. But Felicity took a deep breath, a fortifying sip of coffee and reminded herself firmly that she was more than capable of being _strictly professional_ with Oliver. And, as Diggle navigated the car smoothly though the Glades, she even believed it.

Felicity stepped out of the car feeling confident, ready to tackle Oliver and their to-do list head on. However, an unsettlingly large portion of that confidence evaporated the second she laid eyes on the subbasement door. She was eternally grateful that John preceded her down the stairs, and didn't see the slight stumble in her step as they made their way through the entrance.

Oliver was already there, sorting industriously though the wreckage that had formally been his arrow storage. He looked tired, the bruises on his face darker than they had been when she'd left him not that many hours ago. Her heart, like her feet before, faltered ever so slightly at the sight of him, her first steps on the subbasement floor drawing her instinctively towards him, rather than the computer equipment she was there to evaluate, resolutions and lists forgotten for a moment. She caught herself in three steps, but it was far enough for her to feel a hot rush of shame. "Strictly professional," she reprimanded herself sternly.

"I'm going to start sorting the tech," she announced, swiveling sharply toward the bank of computers and away from him. Felicity missed how Oliver's head came up at her tone. She didn't see his hands still, his eyes following her as she marched over to a shattered monitor. Nor did she catch the questioning look he shot Diggle or the answering shrug.

They each fell to sorting through "their" respective areas of the base - Felicity, technology; Diggle, munition; Oliver, arrows – silently. The occasional conversation that did flair up never strayed far from the task at hand and petered out quickly. The specter of enemy forces lingered in the destruction surrounding them, an unsettling reminder that the space that had once been their safe haven had been breached and could no longer afford them shelter and security.

Felicity was finding concentrating difficult. Picking through splintered pieces of plastic and wires - the undisputable evidence that Slade's men had been here - made Felicity feel vaguely nauseated, and left her nerves jangling. On top of that, she found herself uncomfortably _aware_ of Oliver. Without conversation, or the familiar ambient hum of her servers, or the thrum of the bass from the club upstairs, to mask them, the sounds of him moving though their shared space seemed amplified. More than once, she found herself staring blankly at a broken tracker or hard drive, attention not on the tech she was supposed to be evaluating but on the sound of him shifting though the debris behind her, unsure of how long she'd been holding whatever device was in her hand. Each time she caught herself, a new shot of shame, then anger would course though her and she'd forcibly wrest her focus back the shattered circuitry in front of her. Fortunately, it was fairly obvious what of the smaller tech was worth saving and what was not and despite her distraction, she was able to make quick work of what was left of her workstation. Eventually, she was even able to focus on what she was doing, Oliver receding mercifully into the background.

She was peering into the server tower, pushing down memories of Tockman and an unpleasant sense of déjà vu as she surveyed damaged components, when Oliver's voice in her ear shattered her concentration.

"What do you think Felicity? It is salvageable?"

She jumped, flashlight flying as she whirled, to find him close, very close. Oliver was stooped slightly, as though he had been peering over her shoulder into the inner workings of their server, his posture bringing his face near to hers.

"God you scared me," she exclaimed, edging away, her hand on her chest as though the pressure would slow her stuttering heart. Oliver followed automatically as she backed up, the distance between them not much greater than it had been when he'd been looking over her shoulder. Did he always stand this close? She could feel the warmth radiating from his body, his proximity threatening to overwhelm her senses. "You shouldn't startle people who have their hands all over your sensitive equipment!" she admonished absently.

It wasn't until she saw that fleeting lift at the corner of his mouth, the quick glint in his eye, and heard the snort from Digg's general vicinity that she realized what she'd said. Embarrassment sizzled though her, igniting the magazine of anger that she'd been building all morning. Felicity seized that anger, using it to armor herself against that soft, amused look lingering in his eye. "Don't you dare Oliver," she warned.

His eyebrows rose at and she saw it, the slight stiffening and stilling of his posture that drew him back away from her, the infinitesimal cooling of his expression, his gaze hardened, became assessing. It annoyed her. She certainly didn't need Oliver Queen searching out more weaknesses to exploit. Abruptly, she turned, snatching up the flashlight and freeing herself of the Arrow's appraisal. "I don't know yet if it's salvageable," she said tightly, "it depends."

"On what?" he asked and she could hear the note of caution in his voice. That annoyed her too.

"It depends on what's damaged and how badly. It depends on whether I should be trying to fix the broken components – which will take time – or replace them, which will take money." She flicked the beam back on, striding back over to the server tower, pointedly not looking at him. "And it depends on whether I can do my job without someone breathing down my _neck_." she felt a grim satisfaction as Oliver's brown boot fell back a step, sliding out of her peripheral vision.

"How long it will take you to figure it out?"

She said nothing for a long moment, trying to calculate how much time the repairs would need. And possibly, maybe, just a tiny bit out of petulance.

"Felicity?"

One day, she would figure out how he managed imbue one name with one hundred different meanings with nothing more than a subtle shift in inflection. This version was a mix of concern and wariness.

The flash of anger fizzled out as quickly as it had come and Felicity suddenly felt tired. She sighed, "Just give me a little space for a few hours Oliver," her eyes were still fixed on the jumble of circuit boards and wires glowing under her flashlight beam, but her voice was softer this time. "I'll be able to tell you more then."

"Okay," he agreed gently, "Felicity..." this time it was lingering and hesitant with just a tinge of concern, "Thank you."

The ingrained ninja skills meant she didn't hear him walk away, but she knew he was gone none-the-less by the way the air around her seemed to thin, no longer leaving a charge across her skin. Felicity's shoulders slid down an inch. "Strictly professional," she muttered determinedly, wrangling her mind back to the task at hand.

Oliver retreated only as far as the munitions table where Diggle had been inventorying ammo and weaponry, but had stopped to observe the terse exchange between his partners. Oliver shook his head tightly, the gesture a mix of exasperation and confusion, asking wordlessly if Digg had any insight into what _that_ had been about, only to receive another, "No idea man," shrug in return.

Oliver tapped his knuckles lightly on the cool stainless steel of the work table, frowning unseeingly at the array of ammo spread out before him. Yesterday everything had seemed almost normal. Even Diggle punching him in the jaw, painful as it was, was in line with what he had expected. By the time they'd dropped her off at her apartment, he'd even begun to hope that maybe the team, unlike everything else, hadn't escaped Slade's vendetta unscathed.

He had felt the change in Felicity almost as soon as she'd come down the stairs and marched over to the computers with barely a word. A creeping sense of unease settled over Oliver the longer they'd worked in uncharacteristic silence. Having been at it for several hours before the others arrived, he finished sifting through his arrows well before Diggle and Felicity completed their work. And, without the task to restrain him, he gravitated to where Felicity stood, immersed in the entrails of one of their server towers.

She's been oblivious to her surroundings; he'd leaned over her shoulder and peered into the incomprehensible mass of circuitry, nearly close enough to touch her, for a good ten seconds without detection. Truthfully, he'd gotten a cheap thrill - similar the sort of mischievous pleasure he used to get from playing pranks on Thea - when he'd leaned down to inquire about the state of their server in her ear and she let out that little shriek of surprise, her flashlight clattering to the floor.

Then there had been that wonderful unintentional double entendre and for a fleeting moment he'd though the earlier tension he'd felt had been a mistake or at least not directed at him. But then she'd snapped at him - Felicity never snapped at him, well, not without provocation. Up close, he could see in the ridged set of her posture, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, and the way she kept her bright gaze darted to the flashlight and the computer components, anywhere but his face. But it was the way that she backed away that confirmed something was very wrong.

After the Island, Oliver found it incredibly difficult to let someone closer to him than one arm span. One of the first lessons of hand-to-hand combat that Slade had taught him was once someone was that close to you, the power of your punch was severely reduced and all of your vulnerabilities were open to attack. Several of his scars were testaments to how correct Slade was. But somehow, Felicity had slipped inside his reach.

They had been walking walking to a meeting at QC when he'd first noticed it. She'd been beside him, briefing him from her tablet, inattentive to anything except her screen. A door swung open suddenly in her path and he'd only had to drop his hand a few inches to find the small of her back and steer her away. She hadn't even looked up, but Oliver had been suddenly, startlingly cognizant of how close she was. He spent the rest of the day hyperaware of her proximity. Both in the office and in the base, whenever she had cause to stand near him, she was always close, well within his arm-span. No one, save for Thea, ever stood that close to him, and even Thea only did it occasionally. Felicity, however, always seemed to be there. It was disconcerting. Even more disconcerting, however, was how unnatural if felt when he stepped back and put her at the same distance he kept everyone else, how much conscious effort it took to keep her there, and how he always seemed to drift back a soon as he stopped thinking about maintaining the distance. Eventually he'd just accepted it, though he'd studiously refrained from analyzing it. Being close to Felicity had its benefits after all; when Slade had invaded the base to steal the skeleton key, he hadn't even needed to take a step forward to pull her out of the line of fire. When she'd backed away from him just now, she'd retreated out of his reach, to the same cautious distance everyone else in his life occupied.

Oliver pivoted, turning his feet back to the server tower, but Diggle cleared his throat. John held his gaze for a second before pointedly shaking his head. Oliver's shoulder's sagged. He headed to the training area instead.

He managed to occupy himself for another hour before John, having finished securing the munitions, joined him. Between the two of them, the vast majority of the base was sitting in one of two piles before noon. Though the progress was encouraging, Oliver was soon without occupation and, again, found himself pulled towards where Felicity was still pulling bits out of their server towers.

"How's it going over there Felicity," Diggle called, wheeling the weapons cabinet toward the "keep" pile and heading off Oliver's advance so neatly, Oliver was hard-pressed to say whether it had been intentional or not.

"Better than I expected," she replied, finally stepping back from the towers, a quick look of shock flitting over her face as she took in the nearly empty space. "Wow, you two work fast. It will probably take a day or two, but I should be able to repair the damage to the servers and it doesn't look like we've lost any data. The smaller tech – coms, trackers, all our burner phones, and my monitors didn't fare so well," She paused, raising her glasses on top of her head to rub the bridge of her nose wearily. "That's going to take a bit longer to replace, but it should be okay as long as you two are careful with what we do have and bring it all back from missions. I also want to rewrite the encryptions on the coms, and tighten security on our phones and the server."

Both men walked over to where she was standing. "Oliver and I have almost everything else packed up," John surveyed the space as he did spoke, "will we be able to move the servers today? If we can, we should be able to clear out for good by tonight."

Felicity nodded. "I need about 15 minutes to get them ready to move, but the actual repairs can be done anywhere," she gestured toward an overflowing box beneath her desk, "the stuff in there is a lost cause, but everything else can go."

"How long after the move until you can get us back online?" Oliver asked from his respectful distance next to Diggle, suddenly itching to get back on the streets.

Felicity frowned, "If you've got an adequate power supply and data connection, three to four days. If not, it's harder to say. Will that be a problem?" she finished curtly, folding her arms across her chest.

Oliver realized the question had been more pointed than he'd intended. "No, of course not," he replied, careful of his tone this time, "I know you'll have us up and running as soon as possible."

Felicity nodded, ducking her gaze. "I'll…I'm going to start on the serves," she mumbled, retreating back to the towers.

"Let us know when you're done," Diggle moved on, as though her response was the most natural thing in the world. He turned to Oliver, "I'll start moving the lost causes; you take the keep pile?" Oliver nodded.

Felicity let out a relieved breath as she saw Oliver's shadow retreat toward the neatly stacked piles of electronics. Soon enough, the servers were disconnected and ready to move. She reluctantly stepped back, regretting the loss of her convenient hiding spot. She turned, finding Oliver and Diggle moving her desk to the stairs, looking for all the world as though the massive piece of furniture weighed no more than a card table. "All set gentlemen," she called once they'd set it on the floor. "Whatever you do, do NOT put them on their sides. If you tip them, not even I'll be able to save them."

"Noted," Oliver relied dutifully, eyes light with just a hint of teasing. Felicity felt herself smiling in return, but immediately second-guessed it, the smile quickly fading away. She thought she saw something in Oliver's face dim, but he turned away before she could be sure, shoving his hands in his pockets and addressing Diggle. "We'll wait until after dark to move everything," he said, "But it looks like it's going to take more than one trip in the vehicles we have available."

Diggle came to stand next to Oliver, surveying the pile. "I don't know about you, but I'd prefer to spend as little time as possible on the streets with a trunk-load of arrows, guns, hospital-grade drugs and medical equipment, and military-grade computer equipment." Oliver nodded his agreement.

"Felicity, any way you might be able to find us a moving van for the evening?" Diggle asked after a moment.

"And then make sure the records of the reservation disappeared tomorrow?" she suggested.

"Exactly," Diggle smiled.

She thought for a moment. "The actual hacking won't be a problem, but with Oliver's assets…uncertain…after the takeover, it would be better if we paid in cash…."

Oliver walked over to one of the boxes and pulled out three neatly stacked bundles of hundreds, "Will this cover it?" he asked, tossing the bills to Diggle.

Digg flicked though the bills with a shake of his head, before tossing two stacks back to Oliver. "And then some. We're going to have to talk about your definition of 'poor' Oliver. "

"All right then, whose name should we put the reservation under?" Felicity moved on, "I'm thinking not Oliver Queen?"

"It's probably not a good idea for any of us to be spotted near a moving truck today," Digg opined, "Maybe we should give Roy a call?"

Oliver sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, "I wanted to give him a few more days, after the Mirakuru, but you're right…."

"Roy will probably already have a fake ID or two we can use," Felicity added, thinking aloud. "Shouldn't be a problem then," Felicity hesitated, "but I'm going to have to go home to do it. I just finished disconnecting all of the equipment here and while normally I'd enjoy the challenge of trying to hack a rental agency from my phone…it's been a long couple of days."

Felicity held her breath; seized by a sudden trepidation that Oliver would react badly to her request, though she couldn't say exactly where it came from. She was actually surprised when he nodded, offering no resistance. "Of course. Once you take care of the truck, you should take the rest of the day," he continued gently, "Just text us with the details; Digg, Roy, and I can handle the move. Like you said, it's been a long couple of days."

Instead of relief, his easy acquiescence put her even further on edge. She longed for some space and time to regroup after this first, awkward attempt at working with Oliver as strictly professional Felicity, but this felt like a dismissal. "It's no problem for me to come back –" she began.

The clang of Verdant's side door above them suddenly intruded, and all conversation immediately ceased.

Automatically, Diggle's hand went to his gun and Oliver stepped in front of Felicity, the two partners quickly formulating a plan in a silent conversation, composed of terse nods and sharp glances. Swiftly and absolutely silently, Oliver fell back to the table where his bow and quiver rested, pressing her deeper into the lair, his eyes on the entrance and his body between it and Felicity. Digg advanced, taking up a defensive position in the shadows at the base of the stairs. Oliver glanced back, motioning for her to stay still, before slowly, deliberately drawing an arrow from his quiver, letting the sound of carbon shafts shifting against each other inform his partner he was now armed.

Above them, the faint sound of footsteps headed unerringly toward the subbasement door. Felicity's heart hammered in her chest. Slade had been here twice, Nyssa and the League of Assassins had followed him, Tockman had broken her encryption, and Oliver practically gave the Huntress a key; it was impossible to know how many enemies knew about this place Even if it wasn't one of Slade's henchmen above them, an abandoned club - with its wide-open spaces, fully-stocked bar, and expensive sound equipment - in the middle of the still twitchy and chaotic Glades would be an attractive venue for ne're-do-well's of all stripes.

Another quick series of looks and passed between the two men, signaling a shift from defense to offense. Oliver circled around, backing Diggle as he noiselessly climbed the stairs, gun poised, back against the wall to meet the footsteps.

He was nearly to the top when the door knob began to rattle. Felicity's hammering heart jumped to her Oliver swept forward, boasting himself up and over the railing halfway up the stairs. It was a feat of strength and agility she would have admired if she weren't imagining the hundred different kinds of danger that could be lurking on the other side of the door. He dropped to one knee, nocking an arrow as Digg steadied his gun arm and reached for the door.

Even though she knew it was coming, Felicity couldn't stop her gasp when Diggle wrenched open the door and swung into the frame, the muzzle of his weapon inches away from the intruder's central mass. "What do you-" he barked, his voice loud and authoritative before cutting off abruptly. Felicity couldn't see the door, but she heard John's soft curse before he suddenly swing back into view, briskly holstered his weapon as he tramped down the stairs and Oliver dashed up. She sent a questioning look at Diggle as he stalked back to her, confident the danger had passed but unsure as to what, exactly, was now taking place. He shook his head once, tersely, annoyed, but said nothing. She didn't have to wait long before Oliver's incredulous voice supplied all the answers.

"Laurel? What are you doing here?"

* * *

A/N: Did it take anyone else a good week to pick their jaw off the floor after the mid-season finale? Just me? I'm very curious to see exactly how they resolve that. I admit, their answer to getting stabbed in the liver and falling off the cliff is a Lazarus pit, even though I know it's comic cannon – I'm going to be more than a smidge disappointed.

This show. This F*&amp;$ing show.


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N:** So still slowly, slooooooowly working on "Alternate Season 3" which is pretty much what this has become. At this rate, I should the story should be finished just in time for the Season 5 finale.

Thank you so much to anyone reading and for any and all reviews!

* * *

_Chapter 5_

Laurel's father had kicked her out of his hospital room the day after Oliver's visit, bruskly dismissing her protests with assurances that he would be fine and bluntly telling her that she was the one who needed rest. It was true that she was exhausted. Any sleep she'd gotten over the past 3 days had been grabbed piecemeal, slumped in unforgiving hospital chairs. Still, she hadn't wanted to go. She'd only left because she didn't have a good argument as to why she should stay. She regretted not fighting harder as soon as she stepped out of the hospital.

Outside, the air was thick, laden with dust and shock and grief and the acrid stench of still-smoldering fires. She stared, transfixed, out the window of her taxi at burned buildings and battle wounds, a sickening sense of helplessness creeping over her as she watched each tableaux of loss and destruction roll past. It was a familiar feeling, just like she'd felt last year in the dark days after the Glades had fallen.

Laurel was used to feeling in control of her destiny. She wasn't crazy; she knew she didn't have any influence over the weather and couldn't do anything if there happened to be a meteor with her name on it that happened to fall from the sky one day. But beyond acts of God, she'd firmly believed that with proper planning, preparation, and enough tenacity, she could broadly control the path of her life; that any obstacle to what she wanted could ultimately be overcome by rolling up your sleeves and tackling it head on.

Up until the sea swallowed her sister and boyfriend, that was pretty much how her life had worked out. The loss of Sara and Oliver had been the first time that Laurel had faced the possibility that perhaps she was not as in control of her life as she assumed. She'd been lucky to receive her law school acceptance letter a few weeks after the Gambit went missing. Law school had been escape from the overwhelming sadness and anger of her childhood home to a place where structure and logic ruled. The unrelenting competition had given her something to do, a task to undertake. The scaffolding of rules and procedure that circumscribed the law, neat, logical lines of precedent connecting one ruling to another had been comforting. The law generally followed a set of logical rules.

But when Tommy died, there had been no refuge. CNRI was gone. Oliver fled. And she had floundered. There had been nothing for her to _do_ in the wake of the tragedy; no actions she could take to restore the Glades or steps she could follow to bring back Tommy, nothing between facing how absolutely powerless she was. When the Vigilante had reappeared and she'd joined the DA's office, it had given her some sense of purpose again, but it hadn't been enough. Especially once she'd stopped blaming the Vigilante for her own guilt. The sense of purposelessness and powerlessness had persisted, twisting and magnifying the guilt and grief until only wine and Vicodin could blot them out.

Looking out at the broken glass and damaged buildings, Laurel again felt the bleak, cold sense of impotence and insignificance creeping over her again as she took in the enormity of the destruction. The feeling scared her. But this time, there _was_ something she could do. Oliver. Oliver had been the one to stop Slade, Oliver had been the one to limit the Undertaking, Oliver had fought the Doll Maker and Count Vertigo, the Clock King and Cyrus Vanch. He was doing something, and if she joined him, she could to.

If the taxi driver was surprised by her sudden demand to be taken to Verdant, it didn't show. He merely shrugged and hung the first left he could, doubling back. He seemed content enough to accept the hefty fair racked up by her sudden change of destination in the empty lot twenty minutes later. Walking through the silent club, Laurel felt a sense of purpose, a sense of _conviction_, she hadn't known in a long time. Maybe she wouldn't be able to help him out on the streets, at least not right away, but she was positive Ollie would see the benefit of having an ally in the DA's office. Her excitement carried her across the dance floor, dazzled with the possibilities unspooling in her mind. She was so taken with this new conviction, it didn't even waivered at the fearsome sight of Oliver's bodyguard pointing a gun at her chest. She didn't even begin to second-guess herself until she saw Oliver's face.

Laurel was prepared for Oliver's shock when she'd appeared in the doorway of his super hero lair. She expected surprise and she expected resistance, so she wasn't upset by his incredulous tone or the way his body filled the doorway, blocking her entrance like a sentry. It was the tiniest, briefest flash of annoyance that had flitted across his features when he'd first laid eyes on her, before he'd schooled them that had stung. That flash made her consider for the first time, that Oliver wouldn't want her help; that she might be intruding.

She pushed niggling doubt aside. If Ollie had reservations, she would just persuade him otherwise, "I came to see you," she said confidently.

Oliver said nothing, just watched her expectantly as if waiting for her to continue.

"We really haven't had time to talk about all of…this," she gestured vaguely to the darkness behind him, "and I think we should, now that I know who you are and what you do."

Oliver's sighed, but he nodded, stepping back into the doorway, "Sure," he gestured her in, "but not out here."

When she'd come down these stairs for the first time four days ago, Laurel had been too burdened with worry and Ollie's dead-weight to really consider the implications. But now, as she descended the steps, the surreal fact that she was walking into what could properly be described as Ollie's _lair_ hit her hard.

Her confidence took another hit when she caught sight of Mr. Diggle and Felicity Smoak watching her from the base of the stairs, looking so comfortable and _familiar_ both with each other and this place. The sense of being an outsider, especially where Ollie was concerned, sharpened acutely.

It wasn't until she reached the bottom of the stairs that she realized, with a start, that the cavernous space was nearly empty.

"Are - are you packing?" she asked, casting her eyes about the dim space, noticing the boxes and piles of furniture. "You're leaving? Are you stopping –"

"No," Oliver said as he came down behind her, guiding her away from the piles of equipment, "It's not safe here anymore; we're moving to a new base."

"Oh." That made sense, "Where?"

He didn't answer, just turned so he could face her. It was strange to see Ollie, in jeans and a long-sleeved Henley, holding that bow so casually, as though it were an extension of his hand. It had been one thing to watch him wield it hooded and dressed in green, but now he looked like the man she knew, the man she had grown up with. That man had never held a bow in his charmed life, let alone carried one with such easy and unconscious familiarity. She was feeling more and more off balance.

Laurel didn't miss the look that passed between Mr. Diggle and Felicity before Diggle broke the awkward silence.

"Why don't I take Felicity home so she can get to work, then I'll swing by Roy's and get him up to speed on the plan for this evening?" Digg suggested, addressing Oliver as though she weren't even there.

Oliver glanced at his partners, "Sounds good. Call me when we're set."

Diggle nodded back, heading for the stairs without giving Laurel a second look, felicity following mutely behind, flashing her a brief, nervous smile before disappearing up the steps. They waited in silence for a few more seconds until the sound of the door closing above them assured them they were alone.

"So, what exactly was it you wanted to talk about?" Oliver prompted. He leaned back against an empty table, laying his bow carefully down on the surface. Laurel was surprised by how relieved she was when he did.

"I just –" she began uncertainly, clearing her throat and starting again, "I just wanted to see if you were okay. After everything that happened…."

"I'm fine Laurel," he stepped away from the table, coming towards her. "We stopped Slade; he can't hurt you or anyone else any longer."

"That doesn't mean you're fine Ollie," he stopped his approach, shoulders squaring, "Slade Wilson wasn't just trying to take over Starling City, he was trying to destroy _you_. He took Thea, he killed your mother, he was behind you losing the company…."

Oliver nodded, "He was trying to take everything from me," he agreed flatly.

"Why?"

"Because he blames me for taking everything from him."

"That's ridiculous. I know you, you couldn't…."

"I did Laurel," he spoke with a quiet finality, "It wasn't my choice, but I was the reason it happened."

"Ollie, you can't believe that," she rushed in hotly, "That man was clearly crazy."

"Because of the Mirakuru," Oliver agreed, "that I gave him."

She couldn't suppress the gasp of surprise his confession elicited. And she didn't miss the way his gaze slid from her face to somewhere in the darkness behind her when she did. "Ollie," she started again, her heart clenching, "What happened between you two?"

Oliver folded his arms across his chest. "Laurel," he said with a sigh, "I appreciate you coming down to check on me, but I'm fine and we have a lot to do…." He was trying to get rid of her, she realized.

"I figured you would," she said, ignoring his hint, it was now or never to make her case. "And that's the other reason I came here." She watched his brows raise in surprise for a moment, then collapse into a hard glower, "I can hel-"

"NO!" Oliver cut her off forcefully, "I trust you to keep my secret, but you need to stay far away from this. It is too dangerous."

Laurel pressed doggedly on, "You said yourself; you have a lot to do. And it's not like the police are running on all cylinders at the moment – you need all the help you can get. I can handle myself Ollie, you know I can. It's no more dangerous for me than it is for Mr. Diggle or Roy or Felicity?"

"Diggle is ex-Special Forces. He's a decorated veteran of Iraq and Afghanistan, and has been a bodyguard for high-risk clients for years." Oliver countered, "Roy was injected with Mirakuru, the serum Slade used to make his super-soldiers, while trying to find the Arrow. He was dangerous and no one else could help him; we didn't have a choice."

"What about Felicity?" Laurel seized upon his omission, "She doesn't exactly strike me as ex-special forces."

Something that almost looked like guilt flashed across his features, "Felicity…has a _unique_ technical skill set," was his evasive reply, "She's probably one of the best in the world at what she does. And she doesn't go out in the field."

Hearing Felicity described as, "probably one of the best in the world," was rather unexpected, but Laurel didn't allow herself to dwell on it. "She went out in the field four days ago," Laurel argued instead, "and my dad told me she went as a decoy when he was looking for the Doll Maker."

His jaw ticked, "Yes, where she cracked her head against a concrete wall trying to escape from Mathis. And four days ago, there was a full-scale assault on the city during which she was nearly killed by super-soldiers, a car accident, Isabell Rochev, and Slade himself. It wasn't exactly a typical day at the office." Years of experience in reading his tells let her know he was starting to get frustrated.

She switched tacks, "I'm not asking for my own bow and mask Ollie," Laurel cajoled, softening her tone, "I could be strictly behind-the-scenes."

"It's still too dangerous," he shook his head, "Cyrus Vanch took you because you were _connected_ with the Arrow. If you start working with me, it ups the risk of someone else, someone worse connecting us and doing the exact same thing. And what about your job? Not six months ago, you were heading a DA task force to capture the hood. If someone found out you were working with me, you could lose your job."

"Ollie, no one is going to find out." Despite his aggressive stance, Laurel knew he was beginning to soften, she'd always been able to out-argue him – it had been part of what had inspired her to go to law school in the first place. "If the DA is going after you, that's even more reason to have someone friendly on the inside. We can help each other," she continued persuasively, "I can keep the DA off your back and give you a heads-up on what they know so you can avoid them, as well as information on the worst criminals in the city and what we need to arrest them. You can help us find evidence or get the people we can't normally reach though traditional methods. Think of all the good we could do for this city if we combined forces."

Oliver glared at her, but said nothing, and Laurel knew she nearly had him. "Please Ollie," she walked forward, putting her hand on his forearm, the muscles like steel under her fingertips, "My entire career, I've been trying to help people who have no one else, nowhere else to turn and to. I know you're trying to do the same thing, and if we work together, share resources, we can do so much more than either of us could alone. Let me help you do this."

He took a long breath, "Laurel…"

"Just think about it Ollie," she didn't let him finish, "that's all I ask."

His lips compressed into a tight line, but he still nodded. He held up his hand, stopping her before she could thank him or say anything more. "I'm only agreeing to think about it Laurel," he said sternly, "nothing else. And if, _IF_, you help us, it will be on my terms. Is that understood?"

Laurel nodded obediently, but she knew she had won.

* * *

Not that my opinion means anything, of course, but I feel like the Arrow writers tried to cram way, way too many big concepts into Season 3 and, as a result, none of them really got the development they deserved. Maybe try to limit yourself to one or two themes next season boys? And for the love of Slade Wilson's left eye, get some women in the writing room! Because I'm so unimpressed by what they've done with Felicity this season. Romance and character agency – they are not mutually exclusive gentlemen.


End file.
